Steel Bastard
by nivlac
Summary: "The Empire? You know what I think of your fuckin' empire shithead?"


**A fan requested me to write this. So I did it. First chapter is short because it's a prologue.**

He swung his fists violently at the men who assailed him.

The Lone Wanderer was more than a little confused, and most certainly more than a little pissed at his current situation. He had went from fighting one group of filthy men with guns in an abandoned concrete ruin, to fighting another group of filthy men in a fresh smelling forest complete with pine trees and bird song.

Was he tripping balls?

Instead of wielding rusty knives, pipes, and shitty hunting rifles, his new enemies wielded axes and swords that looked like they were fresh out of some kind of forge. What the fuck exactly was going on? One of them grabbed the massive backpack on his… well, back, and pulled on it hard, The Lone Wanderer landing on his ass.

"Fuckin' horseshit!" Michael screamed, pulling Blackhawk from his armored hip.

Axes and swords bounced off of his t-51b power armor, the white metal not even receiving a scratch. He liked being covered head to toe in metal; it made situations like this bearable. A bullet from the six barreled scoped magnum found purchase in a wide eyed bandit's skull, brain matter flying out of the back of his now wide opened skull.

A couple more of them backed away from Michael, who had quickly stood up. Another man charged at him with an axe raised, ready to bring it down on Michael's helmet. The Lone Wanderer popped off a round into the guy's chest, dropping him to the ground. Even more men backed away, and Michael aimed it at all of them.

"Drop em' you fuckheads!" Michael shouted. "If you don't I'm gonna redecorate this forest with your fuckin' brains!"

The bandits all looked to each other, and dropped their weapons reluctantly.

"Kick them over cunts." Michael ordered.

Again they complied, kicking the steel weapons through the brown dirt towards Michael.

Now that Michael wasn't getting his head bashed in by swords n' axes, he could properly assess the situation. There were about ten men in front of him; all wearing shoddy brown leather bound armor. A lot of them weren't even wearing shoes for some reason. Michael had killed two of them, and knocked another one out when he first showed up.

It was disorienting for him. When he showed up, he had been killing off a raider camp with extreme prejudice, and then there was an odd flash of light. He soon found himself here, attempting to regain his bearings on reality, as he had become fuckin' dizzy as shit. Then these assholes showed up from behind some trees, and started beating the shit out of him while he attempted to figure out what the _hell_ had happened.

It wasn't like they set up an ambush or anything like that; they looked surprised when they saw him. Instead of talking to him though, they of course started jumping him, knocking him around as Michael attempted to regain his bearings. Now that he pointed a gun at them, they seemed a little more compliant.

"Ain't many guns like that round' ere'" One man whispered to another. "It ain't imperial."

"Shut the fuck up!" Michael shouted at him. "You speak when I tell you to speak you fuckin' piece of dog shit."

The bandit ground his teeth together, but said nothing.

"First off," Michael started. "What the shit! Where am I!?"

They all remained silent, and looked to each other with furrowed brows.

Michael shot one of them in the head, his body falling to the earth in a heap, causing the rest to flinch.

"I ain't gettin' my questions answered! Where the fuck am I!?" He shouted.

One man gulped.

"You're about a day away from the Capital, it's to the north, ya can't miss it." He said nervously, wringing his hands.

Michael frowned.

"The Capital Wasteland? Cause if that's what you're sayin' then I call bullshit, the wasteland doesn't have… well, all of this!" Michael shouted, gesturing his guns to the trees.

They remained silent.

"You mean you gots no trees? We ain'ts talkin' about a wasteland. The capital city of the Empire." Another said. "There ain't no wastelands round' here."

Michael squinted his eyes behind his helmet. 'no wastelands round' here.' Was a sentence that made no sense to him. The world was toasted to shit; most of the planet was a goddamn wasteland, for him to say that there wasn't any wastelands meant only a few things. Well, only one really.

He got teleported to New Zealand or something.

That had to be it. He wasn't sure how it happened, but here he was. He didn't know what kind of trees New Zealand had, but where else would he be? Michael was pretty sure that they skipped out on the whole 'nuclear devastation' thing. Or maybe this was a pocket of Canada that didn't get blown up? Wait, it couldn't have been New Zealand. Michael was pretty sure that the locals in New Zealand didn't speak English.

Pretty sure anyway, he wasn't the world's leading expert on New Zealand or anything, so if these guys were speaking perfect English, that leaves a few options.

"Is this America? Canada? Some fucked up part of Europe?" Michael said, pausing. "New Zealand?"

They all looked to each other again.

"Never 'eard of em' before." One said. "This be The Empire."

Michael would have pinched the bridge of his nose if he wasn't wearing a helmet, so he instead opted on slamming his faceplate into his palm.

"Okay retard, but what fuckin' continent are we on?" Michael asked, aiming his gun at the man who spoke.

He raised his hands higher.

"Eh… I fink its called Core? I fink that's it." He told him.

Another bandit slapped him on the back of the head.

"You idjit. It ain't called dat, it be called Oar you git!" He shouted.

Michael felt like screaming, there was no continent called Core or Oar or whatever the fuck they were talking about. He was getting frustrated with them. Maybe they called the continent a different name because the original name got lost with the apocalypse. Maybe. He doubted it; he knew one thing for sure though that could get this figured out.

"Any of you fags got a map?" Michael asked, waving his gun at each of them.

One reached to his hip, and pulled out a huge rolled up piece of paper.

"I was fixin' to be a cartographer fore' I was runnin' with this lot, so I gots everything in the world on this map." The man stated, tossing him the paper.

Michael caught it.

"I'll let you live to be the best fuckin' cartographer in the world, don't run along with these cunts, you'll get fuckin' killed." Michael told him, unfolding the map.

Michael's jaw dropped once he saw landmasses that looked nothing like America, Canada, and most _certainly_ not New Zealand. The supercontinent was surrounded by a massive ocean, and big black letters that read ' **THE EMPIRE'** situated itself in the center, with other countries surrounding it in similar fashion to a compass.

Quite literally like a compass.

There was the South Kingdom, the North Kingdom, the East Kingdom, and the West Kingdom. Michael shook his head.

"Dumb fuckin' names." He muttered, shutting his eyes.

He was going to wait five seconds, and then open them up again. Then his hallucination of this map will have gone away.

One…

Two…

Three…

Four…

Five!

He opened them up, and saw the same exact map as before. Michael clenched his teeth, and kicked the dirt in front of him.

"Fuck!" He shouted.

 **I don't remember everything about Akame ga Kill, so if I make a mistake…**

 **Well whatever.**


End file.
